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He’s harsh, unpolished and severe, and I’m completely captivated by it. By him.
I still don’t remember the things he tells me. I reach for them desperately, searching for any echo of remembrance, but I find nothing. It’s almost as if he’s reading me a novel about a boy named Wolfe and girl named Tana, one that weaves its way inside me with every sentence. I would read it over and over again.
He reaches the end of the story and stops speaking, and I don’t think I’ve ever been more disappointed. I wish there was more.
I watch him, willing him to keep talking, but he’s quiet.
“You’re staring at me again,” he finally says. “That seems to be a habit of yours.” His voice is stony and impassive.
“It’s hard not to,” I admit, but for some reason, I’m not embarrassed. “You’re beautiful. Have I told you that before?”
He swallows hard and blinks several times. “No.”
We’re quiet for a long time, watching the waves as they roll up the shore. I feel a pull toward him, strong and real, wholly undeniable.
Maybe there’s a part of me that remembers after all.
“How did you get here? It looked as if you just appeared in the water.” It sounds so trivial after all he’s shared, but everything else feels too big to touch.
“What?”
“Why did you arrive in the water?”
He shakes his head. He knows it’s a weak question. “Because it’s part of the deal we have with your mother. We can live on the island, but our home is hidden by magic, and we are only allowed to use the streets of the Witchery once a month when we need supplies. Even then, we have to use a perception spell. Using the currents is our way around that.”
“Clever,” I say, even though it hurts to hear about another lie my mother has told me my entire life. Not only did she know of the old coven’s existence, but she’s also spoken with them. Set rules for them.
“What now?” he asks, keeping his eyes on the shore. I hear the hope in his voice, the way it lightens his words.
But I can’t give him what he wants.
“I don’t know,” I say quietly.
He tenses beside me. When I don’t elaborate, he exhales sharply. “You’re going to marry him, aren’t you?”
I don’t reply.
He shoves himself off the ground and throws his arms in the air. “Damn it, Mortana, why did you make me go through this? Why did you insist I tell you everything if it doesn’t matter?”
I stand as well and follow him down the beach. “Itdoesmatter,” I say, my voice rising. He won’t stop walking, won’t turn to face me. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t remember any of it.”
He stops then, looking at me so intensely I almost turn away, but I don’t. I force myself to see him, really see him. “This is real, what we have, and I know you can feel it,” he says, gesturing between us. He’s angry, this visceral, strong reaction that radiates off him and stops me from moving.
He closes the space between us and takes my hand, pressing it firmly over his heart. “I’m right here, Mortana, standing directly in front of you, promising I will recreate every single memory if that’s what it takes.”
“I believe you,” I say, keeping my palm against his chest.
“Then let me. Please.”
“It isn’t that simple. I have a duty to my family, to my coven.”
“That didn’t stop you before,” he says, tightening his grip on my hand.
“It should have,” I whisper.
As soon as I say it, I wish I could take it back. A wall rises between us, and any vulnerability Wolfe was willing to show me is gone. He drops my hand and backs away from me, my arm falling to my side. For some reason, it makes me want to cry.
He nods slowly. I try to read his face, but he gives nothing away. “Got it. Well, let me make it easier for you this time.”
